Silly me.

What with my dire outlook lately, I had neglected to note that the Olympics are upon us. Never was there a richer buffet of sport over which to wager, and Ray is nothing if not a large cloud of green bills when the games are afoot. I casually knocked on his door Saturday to see if he was following the volleyball and swimming, and he hurriedly entreated me to the little encampment of couches, monitors and phones he had arranged in his living room. Wires snaked about the floor, dry-erase boards rested against walls, and several oversized flags hung in the corners. No sooner had I entered the room than he had settled down into his armchair and sounded a canned-air horn at the en-garde of some Men's fencing. I nipped an éclair from a large pastry tray and found a seat.

Five of my dollars said the Romanian fencer would take the Japanese, and we were off and rolling. He likes to bet large on the U.S. teams, no matter the press or insider commentary, so I cleared a hefty sum hedging against Old Glory. Pleasantly back in the easy bills, I settled in and tried to keep both eyes on the bank of monitors which broadcast the full spectrum of competition. Here a tenner on badminton, there two hundred on handball. A hefty grand on medley swimming. Seventy-five cents on women's air rifle, but it was seventy-five cents I didn't have before. He seems to bet against teams that have green in their flag, which is a good piece of information. I shall resume the wagering tomorrow when the broadcasts begin anew, having fortified myself with the real-time results on-line.